Alternatives
by Sam Davidson
Summary: Different takes on the same basic plot, all based on HP. Not in chronological order. Read them to see what I mean. I plan to add more.
1. The Dark Emperor

The Dark Emperor  
  
***  
  
Voldemort heard footsteps in the passage outside his cell. The lock on his door rattled as a key was inserted and turned, and the door scraped open to admit Wormtail, his former servant.  
  
"The Emperor wishes to speak with you, your Lordship," said the small man, his metal hand playing nervously with the large iron key. The fact that there even was a key to the door was completely symbolic, and almost made Voldemort want to laugh. There was a lot more than metal keeping him imprisoned there.  
  
"Very well," he replied, "but don't keep calling me 'your Lordship'. I'm afraid those days are far behind us."  
  
The two men walked down the dark stone passages toward the center of the underground fortress, the smaller one's hand never straying far from the pocket that held his wand. Never in his wildest imagination had he dreamed that someday he would have power over Lord Voldemort himself. Even the fact that he now did could not change the fact that the tall, gaunt man with the pale face and slits for eyes was terrifying.  
  
They came out of a passage into a circular chamber at the heart of the fortress, lit by a faint red light emanating from some invisible source. The man facing the mirror on the opposite wall turned to face them as they entered.  
  
***  
  
What a pitiful sight: Lord Voldemort, the terror of the wizarding world, being led as a prisoner by Wormtail, the Dark Side's biggest coward. The Emperor cast them a cold stare. *I could have killed Voldemort long ago,* he thought to himself. *Perhaps I should have, but he has vital experience that I can use. He has come closer to death than I ever mean to, and has first-hand knowledge of things I never dreamed of. It would be a pity to let him go to waste. Yes, he has his uses, but he will never even come near a wand again. He tried to kill me too many times for me to trust him that far. I remember back then, when I was young and foolish and thought I was achieving something by fighting evil. I had a name then too, though now like Voldemort's no one dares use it: Harry Potter.*  
  
***  
  
The young man's cold green eyes the newcomers to the room for what seemed like an eternity. Then he spoke, his voice steely to match his gaze. "Ron Weaseley," he stated simply, and smiled inwardly at the blank look on Voldemort's face. "He is the key to our next move. Why? Because of two very important things. Firstly, he was my best friend when we were at Hogwarts together. Secondly, his sister Ginny still goes there. You, or rather Tom Riddle, used her once before, so you will be able to assist me in using her again. Ron I can take care of myself. Through them we can move against Hogwarts, the last stronghold in England. Come look in this mirror. It shows Hogwarts as it is right now. Almost the entire Ministry of Magic is holed up there for fear of us, and the place is like a rabbit warren. It is the perfect setting for our next attack: Operation Fox to chase out the rabbits."  
  
He smiled inwardly again, this time at the name of his attack. He owed his knowledge of the military terminology to his cousin Dudley, but no one would ever know that. When Harry had begun to realize the truth about good and evil, Dudley was the first one to go. Since then he had stopped counting the victims, and *Avada Kedavra* now came as easily to his lips as *Wingardium Leviosa*. After a long silence, he turned to face Wormtail, who was still standing by the doorway. "That will be all, thank you. You may return Voldemort to his cell. I will summon you again when you are needed," he said briskly.  
  
The pair departed, and the Dark Emperor sank into a chair. *I almost pity Wormtail at times,* he thought. *I suppose that's why I haven't locked him up like Voldemort. Though maybe it's because he was a friend of my parents, even as the fools that they were… Voldemort killed them. I could forgive him for trying to kill me, after all I was an inconvenience to his plans, but never for that.* He reached across the table and pulled a map of Hogwarts toward him. Then he picked up a quill and began sketching a plan in blood-red ink. 


	2. The Right to Life

The Right to Life  
  
***  
  
Voldemort heard footsteps in the passage outside his cell. The lock on his door rattled as a key was inserted and turned, and the door scraped open to admit Alastor Moody, the famous auror.  
  
"Professor Dumbledore wishes to speak with you," said the grizzled old man, his scarred hand playing nervously with the large iron key. The fact that there even was a key to the door was completely symbolic, and almost made Voldemort want to laugh. There was a lot more than metal keeping him imprisoned there.  
  
"Very well," he replied, "but he won't get anything out of me. I will die before I do anything that would help that fool."  
  
The two men walked down the dark stone passages toward the center of the underground fortress, the older one's hand never straying far from the pocket that held his wand. Never in his wildest imagination had he dreamed that someday he would have power over Lord Voldemort himself. Even the fact that he now did could not change the fact that the tall, gaunt man with the pale face and slits for eyes was terrifying.  
  
They came out of a passage into a circular chamber at the heart of the fortress, lit by a faint green light emanating from some invisible source. The man facing the mirror on the opposite wall turned to face them as they entered.  
  
***  
  
What a pitiful sight: Lord Voldemort, the terror of the wizarding world, being led as a prisoner by Mad-eye Moody, the Ministry's most paranoid auror, and that was saying something. Dumbledore cast them a cold stare. *I could have had Voldemort killed long ago,* he thought to himself. *Perhaps I should have, but he has vital experience that I can use. He was in personal control of all the Death Eaters, and has first-hand knowledge of things I never dreamed of. It would be a pity to let him go to waste. Yes, he has his uses, but he will never even come near a wand again. He committed too many horrendous acts for me to trust him that far. I remember back then, when I was new to the job of Headmaster, and at the same time was constantly struggling to keep the Dark Side at bay. Many times I truly did want this man dead.*  
  
***  
  
The silver-bearded man's deep blue eyes surveyed the newcomers to the room for what seemed like an eternity. Then he spoke, his voice steely to match his gaze. "Lucius Malfoy," he stated simply, and smiled inwardly at the blank look on Voldemort's face. "He is the key to our next move. Why? Because of two very important things. Firstly, he holds a prominent position in the Ministry. Secondly, he is one of the most, if not the most active Death Eaters of all. You trusted him more than many, and will be able to make a connection with him again under the pretense of an escape plan. The Ministry I can take care of myself. Through Malfoy we can move against the core group of Death Eaters, the last stronghold of the Dark Side in England. Come look in this mirror. It shows the Malfoy estate as it is right now. Crabbe, Goyle, and quite a few others are holed up there for fear of us, and the place is like a rabbit warren. It is the perfect setting for our next attack: Operation Fox to chase out the rabbits."  
  
He smiled inwardly again, this time at the name of his attack. He owed his knowledge of the military terminology to his Muggle friends, but Voldemort, having none, would have no idea what he meant. That was probably the man's worst characteristic, his utter hatred of muggles. Dumbledore knew that they could in fact be quite friendly, and had a charming air of simplicity. Killing them like Voldemort did was like killing innocent children. After a long silence, he turned to face Moody, who was still standing by the doorway. "That will be all, thank you. You may return Voldemort to his cell. I will summon you again when you are needed," he said briskly.  
  
The pair departed, and Dumbledore sank into a chair. *I almost pity Alastor at times,* he thought. *I suppose he's just had one to many a close encounter in his life. Too many lives like his have been ruined by Voldemort, by being subjected to torture, curses, and even death… Voldemort killed them. I could forgive him his lust for power, after all it is natural in people with weaker souls, but never for that.* He reached across the table and pulled a map of the Malfoy estate toward him. Then he picked up a quill and began sketching a plan in emerald-green ink. 


	3. The Last Battle

Tha Last Battle  
  
***  
  
Dumbledore heard footsteps in the passage outside his cell. The lock on his door rattled as a key was inserted and turned, and the door scraped open to admit Vincent Crabbe, his former student.  
  
"Lord Voldemort wishes to speak with you, professor," said the thickset boy, his burly hand playing nervously with the large iron key. The fact that there even was a key to the door was completely symbolic, and almost made Dumbledore want to laugh. There was a lot more than metal keeping him imprisoned there.  
  
"Very well," he replied, "but don't keep calling me 'professor'. I'm afraid those days are far behind me."  
  
The boy led the man down the dark stone passages toward the center of the underground fortress, the smaller one's hand never straying far from the pocket that held his wand. Never in his wildest imagination had he dreamed that someday he would have power over Dumbledore himself. Even the fact that he now did could not change the fact that the tall man with the long silver beard had an aura of power about him.  
  
They came out of a passage into a circular chamber at the heart of the fortress, lit by a faint red light emanating from some invisible source. The man facing the mirror on the opposite wall turned to face them as they entered.  
  
***  
  
What a pitiful sight: professor Dumbledore, the most looked-up to wizard in England, being led as a prisoner by Crabbe, Hogwarts' stupidest thug. Voldemort cast them a cold stare. *I could have killed Dumbledore long ago,* he thought to himself. *Perhaps I should have, but he has vital connections that I can use. He has manipulated the Ministry of Magic for years, and has the trust of every respectable wizard in the country. It would be a pity to let him go to waste. Yes, he has his uses, but he will never even come near a wand again. He foiled my attemts too many times for me to trust him that far. And he was incredibly unfair to me and the other Slytherins at Hogwarts. I remember back then, when I was young and first learning about the true nature of good and evil. I had a name then too, though now no one dares use it: Tom Riddle.*  
  
***  
  
The gaunt man's red eyes like slits surveyed the newcomers to the room for what seemed like an eternity. Then he spoke, his voice malevolent to match his gaze. "Ron Weaseley," he stated simply, and smiled inwardly at the blank look on Dumbledore's face. "He is the key to my next move. Why? Because of two very important things. Firstly, he is the best friend of Harry Potter, and we have him in captivity. Secondly, Potter and the few others who managed to escape our siege of the school are holed up in the house of the Dursleys, Potter's relatives. You, as the professor Weasley looks up to, will attempt to get through to Potter. The Muggles I can take care of myself. Through them I can move against the Dursleys' house, the last stronghold in England. Come look in this mirror. It shows their house as it is right now. Almost all of what is left of Ministry of Magic is holed up there for fear of me, they must have expanded it magically, and the place is like a rabbit warren. It is the perfect setting for my next attack."  
  
He smiled inwardly again, this time at his own cleverness in planning. He was the kind of man who would have named his attack like a military operation, but he knew nothing of the workings of the military. He was far too enamored of torturing and killing muggles too care what they did for occupations. Dumbledore, on the other hand, knew all about them, muggle- lover that he was. In truth that was the one thing Voldemort just couldn't stand about the man. How powerful could Dumbledore have become if he had delved into the Dark Arts? Voldemort wasn't sure he wanted to know. After a long silence, he turned to face Crabbe, who was still standing by the doorway. "That will be all. You may return Dumbledore to his cell. I will summon you again when you are needed," he said briskly.  
  
The pair departed, and Voldemort sank into a chair. *I'd thank God for people like Crabbe, if there was one,* he thought. *Brute strength combined with an utter lack of a sense of independence. Though it pains me to think that I rely on people like them. Sort of like muggles in that they remind me of beasts of burden… Dumbledore actually teaches muggles like that magic. I could forgive him for trying to thwart me, after all he truly believes in fighting against evil, but never for that.* He reached across the table and pulled a map of number 4 Privet Drive toward him. Then he picked up a quill and began sketching a plan in blood-red ink. 


	4. Author's Note

Author's Note:

I have gone as far as I can with this story- call it writer's block, lack of time, desertion by the muse, or just plain laziness. It is now up for adoption by anyone who feels moved to continue or complete it. To anyone who feels so moved: thank you *so* much! Please write as little or as much as you want, and e-mail it to me at arcoiris333@hotmail.com. Unless it's either awful or inappropriate, I'll post it here (with your name, of course).

Thanks a lot in advance to anyone who takes pity on my poor little story and lends it a helping hand.

Sam Davidson


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